Chemistry Building Addition: Introducing my new writing assistant

(This is Stop #21 in the Texas A&M Building Writing Tour, my attempt to motivate myself on my dissertation by writing in every campus building before I graduate.)

In recent weeks, my dissertation productivity has increased considerably, with an unfortunate result — the near extinction of my recreational writing.

I’ve been wanting to start blogging again, but it seemed so difficult to switch my writing gears. Plus, I felt intimidated by my backlog of buildings. So, to get unstuck, I decided to write in a new building, and tackle a really easy writing task: Gushing about my new portable monitor.

The 16.4” HP U160 Portable Monitor is a remarkable product. Simple, beautiful, and functional. It runs from a single USB port (no external power source). The attached case flips around and becomes a stand, so I can prop the non-glare screen at any angle. It starts automatically, as soon as I plug it in. Using the HP DisplayLink Manager software, I can specify the second monitor’s location, to the right or left of my laptop. This gizmo requires no computer savvy … just drag the windows and documents over to it, and drag them back when you’re done.

This is a wonderful writing tool. I can read a journal article on one screen and write about it on the other. I can compare two sets of statistical output side-by-side. If I’m doing lots of cutting and pasting between documents, I can keep them both visible simultaneously — no more switching between windows, confusing myself, and pasting paragraphs into the wrong file. It’s fantastic!

Every writing nomad should own one of these. At 3.4 pounds, it’s light enough to carry anywhere (official weight from HP, confirmed by my own independent measurement). Wherever I am working, my new monitor is by my side — at my apartment, the library, or the local bakery/deli. At my favorite coffee shop (which has tiny round tables), the monitor sits on a tall chair borrowed from the bar.

When it’s time to go home, the whole thing folds into a flat package about an inch thick. I’m not sure if the black outer covering is leather, or vinyl, or what, but it has a rich, classy feel. The inside is lined with soft velour/felt material to protect the screen. Embedded magnets gently snap the case closed, with no need for zippers or latches.

The subtle embossed HP logo adds a nice touch — I love my monitor so much, I don’t mind a little advertising. In fact, I sold two of them in the first week alone — HP should put me on commission!

What do you think is cooler, the monitor or the multicolored  glass-encased helix?

Silver Taps: At last I understand.

Once there was a grad student. She had a home and a job far away. She came to campus only for class, usually once a week. She did this for years, until she finished her classes. Then she didn’t come to campus at all.

She didn’t understand the Aggie Spirit. Texas A&M was the institution at which she was enrolled, and that was all. She didn’t grasp the strange, almost cult-like kinship Aggies seemed to share, and even found it annoying. Why must they whoop at every mention of their school? And what are the strange motions they make with their hands? Who were these Texas Aggies? Did they really think they were better than everyone else? Perhaps she was a tad resentful, as people sometimes are when a circle closes, leaving them outside.

Last year, she came to Muster. There she caught a glimmer of that unique bond that ties the Aggie family together. Years from now, when her dissertation is a distant memory, and her time on earth is done, would a comrade answer “Here” for her?

Over time, the memory of Muster dimmed, buried by the busy-ness of life. But once started, such a spark could not be completely extinguished. Our grad student started coming to campus more, as often as her job duties allowed. She even made it to a football game. She can now sing most of the words to the Aggie War Hymn, as long as there is a strong singer nearby for her to follow. Still, she still often felt more like a visitor than a true Aggie.

Tonight, she went to Silver Taps.

Walking through the blackened campus, she had difficulty recognizing the buildings and wished she’d spent more time there. Unsure of her way, she strained to see shadowy figures far ahead, and followed them to the Academic Plaza. As a city dweller constantly surrounded by light, she loved the cloak of darkness—it dimmed sight but sharpened her other senses.

Standing in silence, she thought of students she didn’t know—students snatched away, to the heartbreak of their friends and families. As she listened to the hymns tolled by faraway chimes, she was sad because she couldn’t remember all the words, and vowed to spend more time listening to hymns, and singing them. From the front row, she could see the Corps cadets, arrayed in silent vigil. She thought of all the planning and practice that went into this evening. Just turning off all the campus lights must be a huge logistical challenge. All this for two Aggies? Yes. Would they have done it for just one? Yes.

Click…..Click…..Click. As the Ross Volunteers entered, clad all in white, she wondered…are they nervous? Are any of them praying they won’t make a mistake? …an error in timing, a slip of the hand on a rifle… There would have been no condemnation, of course; but still—no one wanted anything to tarnish the moment. And nothing did.

As the bugles’ last haunting notes died away, she thought of respect, and loyalty, and honor. Fallen we are, full of selfishness and every bad thing; yet we are made in God’s image and thus we get it right at times. Tonight was one of those times.

At last, at last she understood.

Sbisa Dining Hall: Death of a Dream

(This is Stop #20 in the Texas A&M Building Writing Tour, my attempt to motivate myself on my dissertation by writing in every campus building before I graduate.)

Well, it’s gone. Over. Dead.

My beautiful, magnificent, splendid writing streak is done. It lasted over a year, and I had secretly hoped to keep it going until I graduated. For 382 days in a row, I wrote continuously for at least 30 minutes. I was sure I would at least make it to 400. (Why are numbers ending in 00 somehow more satisfying? Completely illogical.)

My writing streak died last night at midnight, but I didn’t discover its death until lunchtime today, in Sbisa Dining Hall's underground café where I had settled in for a pleasant lunchtime writing session. I couldn’t decide between Chik-Fil-A and Mombo Subs, so I compromised, pairing a Mombo sandwich with CFA’s waffle fries. I opened my file to work, and I opened my writing log spreadsheet to document my session. Then, a shock: there was no entry for yesterday.

I stared at the log, hoping to discover a mistake. I scoured my paper journal, to see if I’d written longhand without recording the date. I cast my mind through all of yesterday’s events, from getting up in the late morning, to the doctor’s appointment, to packing up my stuff, and driving to my College Station apartment for two days of self-imposed dissertation boot camp. I remembered settling in for a relaxing evening, catching up on emails and other miscellaneous dissertation-related tasks. I didn’t even open my writing log, thinking I’d written that morning. Somehow my dissertation-addled brain mixed yesterday morning up with the previous morning…I remembered an actual morning writing session, but my mind placed it on the wrong day. I could easily have written half an hour last night, without even staying up late.

If only I’d known my writing streak was dying at that very moment, I wouldn’t have been so upset about shattering my beloved water mug in the apartment parking lot. Yes, yesterday was one of those days everything fell apart: me, my water mug, and my writing streak. I wonder, do other grad students occasionally have days filled with panic, when nothing goes well, and they’re terrified they won’t be able to finish? Hmmm, it’s probably just me. I must say, the writing streak has helped with that—ever since I developed a daily writing habit, my percentage of panic-filled days has decreased.

A wise professor once advised me to voluntarily end my writing streak after a year. I wish I’d listened to her. I suspect she know I was bound to blow it if I kept going. She probably feared, with good reason, that if I failed at something so simple as writing every day, I would become very discouraged about my dissertation. I’m sure she knew it would hurt more to lose this writing streak than last year’s writing streak, which had only been with me for 145 days.

I am keenly aware of how a small setback can snowball into deep discouragement, if you're not careful. Don’t worry, I have invested far too much in this little project to let that happen. I am determined to press on and not lose heart. Once I get past the momentary sadness, I’m sure I’ll see this in a positive light. Perhaps now, instead of being satisfied with spending 30 minutes a day writing about a building, I’ll chase some bigger and more meaningful writing goals.

Important disclaimer: Except for a few small edits, I wrote the above portion of this post on Thursday, January 24, the same day I learned of my writing streak’s demise. As usual, I am running behind transferring my photos and posting my building blurbs. Bad habits are tough to break at the best of times…please cut me some slack while I’m in mourning.

Oh, I almost forgot…this blog post is supposed to be about a building! I’m afraid I don’t have much to say about Sbisa Dining Hall. My writing streak’s death had rattled me, and my powers of observation were nearly nonexistent that day. All I noticed about the Sbisa underground were the murals on the walls. I liked them. They were very well done, but not so well done as to be the work of a professional (at least I hope not). My guess is that they were created by a bunch of different student groups.

Evans Library: Dissertation Boot Camp!

(This is Stop #19 in the Texas A&M Building Writing Tour, my attempt to motivate myself on my dissertation by writing in every campus building before I graduate.)

What an amazing week. For four days, the University Writing Center staff locked us in a beautiful window-lined room in Evans library, so we could write, write, write.

We each had our own big table, where we could spread out our books, research articles, and chocolate. Each day, our Writing Center friends treated us to an excellent lunch. They said that if we left to eat, we probably wouldn’t come back. As one camper said, “they took care of us so we wouldn’t have to take care of ourselves.” They even fed us afternoon snacks—writing is hungry work.

Each day, we each had a 45-minute private coaching session with the same two Writing Center experts. Thanks to Nancy and Skully, my fantastic coaches, my Introduction and Methods sections are a thousand times better than they were the weekend before. (For the first three days, I spelled Skully’s name as Scully when I sent her my papers. I eventually got it right. Apparently she is an anthropologist who likes to play with skulls.)

Due to a hectic data collection semester last fall, along with some non-dissertation-related setbacks over Christmas break, my rate of progress had slowed nearly to zero in the six weeks prior to boot camp. I badly needed some momentum.

I found it.

In the past two years, I have become a believer in the power of a daily writing habit. In fact, oddly enough, my writing streak (writing 30 minutes every single day, no matter what) began on January 7, 2012, exactly one year before the first day of the 2013 Dissertation Boot Camp. I have made considerable progress by squeezing one-hour writing sessions into the end of tiring days, but that’s not enough. If I want to finish this thing, I need some 4-6 hour work sessions, long enough to wrestle with organizational issues and data analysis without constantly looking at the clock. (Short breaks are okay; I’m not crazy enough to write 6 hours nonstop.)

I don’t think I could write 9-5 for more than 4 days though. By Thursday afternoon of boot camp, I was exhausted and my brain was fried. I couldn’t write a coherent sentence no matter how hard I tried. I’m pretty sure my fellow campers felt the same.

But as tired as we were, we knew we had accomplished a lot in those four days. Three of us resolved to do our own unofficial boot camp, beginning the next Monday in Evans Library. Getting up at 7:30 a.m. is never easy for me, but I can do it if I know someone is expecting me.

Boot camp ended on January 10, and so did the free lunches, snacks, and private writing coaches. But that’s okay, because the boot camp organizers gave me a very special gift, a gift I can keep: Cheerleaders. Whenever I walk through the second floor of Evans library and see someone from the Writing Center, I can count on receiving a pat on the back and a kind word about my writing. To a graduate student, especially one in the dissertation-writing stage, words of encouragement are like gold. (They gave me a T-shirt too, but I value the cheerleaders more.)

Over the last two years, I’ve written many times in Evans Library, usually staring at the wall of a small closet known as an individual study room. I’m very glad I waited until Dissertation Boot Camp to put Evans in my blog. Thank you, TAMU Writing Center!

Me at my writing table. It looks dark outside because it is.
It rained most of the week, so nobody wanted to go outside anyway.

Chemistry Building

(This is Stop #18 in the Texas A&M Building Writing Tour, my attempt to motivate myself on my dissertation by writing in every campus building before I graduate.)

(This is also the last remaining building in my backlog of overdue buildings. I wrote in the Chemistry Building in early November.)

Wow, what a cool building! I know I’ve said it before, and it’s not very creative, but that’s what ran through my mind as I walked the Chemistry Building’s halls in search of a writing place.

I chose this building semi-randomly, from the population of buildings near the Harrington Education Tower, site of my POWER writing group meeting at 5:00. The funnest buildings for writing are those whose identities are completely unknown to me when I enter them. Sometimes it takes me a while to figure out where I am—not this time. Within six steps of the door, the chemistry was obvious….chemical diagrams, labs, and hazard warnings were everywhere. The Chemistry Building was clearly not designed for writing—I walked the entirety of the main hallways of all three floors without finding a single chair, bench, or study cranny.

During my futile search for a bench, I enjoyed reading the signs. On an elevator that didn’t look like an elevator: “This is a non-functioning elevator….for ADA compliant elevator, go to room ___.” On an ice machine: “Not for Human Consumption”. On a marker board: a detailed hand drawing of the building and surrounding streets/walkways, complete with stick figures, numerous arrows, and large biceps (on a stick figure). Everywhere: “High Voltage and Spill Control Kit”. On each floor: signs for the men’s and women’s restrooms, also with arrows. I followed the arrows to what appeared to be a dead end. I was scared to open the double steel doors, because they appeared to go to a lab. (I didn’t want to trespass.) I peered through the glass and saw no lab equipment, so plunged ahead. Sure enough, I found it: a well-marked door to a lovely, brightly lit restroom, nicely decorated with gray-and-white checkerboard tiles and shiny steel fixtures.

The place I wanted to write was the Arthur E. Martell lecture hall, because I wanted my one photo to feature the lecture hall lobby’s garish decorations. The floor’s intricate geometric tile design reminded me of American Indian art. The fancy brass moldings on the ceilings made me think of a normal house masquerading as a mansion. I’m not sure what the red leather-like door coverings decorated with rivets reminded me of... a dungeon? An old-timey western attorney’s office? Anyway, none of the lobby decorations seemed to belong, either with each other or with the rest of the chemistry building.

I couldn’t write in the lecture hall because it was being used for…guess what? A lecture. I do not claim to know the topic of the lecture, as I only saw one PowerPoint slide, which summarized the difference between realism and romanticism. Perhaps if I had stayed, the professor would have pointed to the giant periodic table on the wall and explained whether it fit best with realism, romanticism, or both. But no, I couldn’t stay. I had to fit in a writing session before my 5:00 writing group meeting, or I might get kicked out of the group.

For the first time in my building-writing tour, and possibly in my whole life, I wrote for nearly an hour standing up. (I stood up for part of my Kyle Field writing session, because Texas Aggies are required to stand during football games, and I did not arrive in time to finish writing before the game started.) The best writing place I could find was a chest-high table outside a lab. A friendly chemist emerged and asked if I needed a door unlocked. (I’m sure he wouldn’t have actually unlocked anything without checking my credentials.) I told him that no, I was just waiting for someone, and asked if I would be in anyone’s way writing at this table. He reassured me and went back to work. (I practiced no deceit—I was indeed waiting for someone. I was waiting for me to finish my writing session.) I have heard that writing standing up is actually a good thing…it can cause your brain to function better, and of course, it burns more calories than sitting. Maybe I should do this more often.

I was tempted to cave on my “one picture per building, visible from my writing location” rule. I so wanted to post the picture of the lecture hall lobby, as I was so proud of myself for managing to stuff the geometric floor, brass ceiling moldings, and riveted doors all into the same picture. I slept on it, and fortunately a cooler head prevailed. Nearly a year ago, I compromised my principles on the writing streak, allowing myself to count blog writing and rambling in my writing log. Like most who succumb to temptation, I justified it in my own mind, arguing that miscellaneous writing activity would provide useful writing practice and keep me from hiding from my dissertation. Disaster followed: my 367-day writing streak now controls my life, keeping me awake late at night writing about buildings, instead of sleeping so I can do meaningful research and writing.

Even our sins and compromises have value, if we learn from them. So here is my one building photo, which includes my tall writing table. If you want to see the lecture hall lobby, you’ll have to visit in person (you’ll be glad you did.) I love the Chemistry Building’s wood doors and moldings…they seem unexpected, almost quaint. They are certainly warm and welcoming. If I were a chemist who had to spend my life in a lab, I’d like the lab to be here.

My writing table is on the right side of the hall, past the blue trash can but not quite as far as the yellow refrigerator.

Rudder Theater

Whoo-hoo! In fulfillment of a New Year's Resolution, I am finally getting caught up with my overdue buildings!

(This is Stop #17 in the Texas A&M Building Writing Tour, my attempt to motivate myself on my dissertation by writing in every campus building before I graduate.)

Note: Due to my perfectionism affliction and my incredibly hectic semester of data collection, I’m posting this over three months after my September 28 visit to Rudder Theater. I realize this is not the proper way to write a blog. After all, blog is short for “web log”, which implies that the blog should log our thoughts and experiences as we go along, not long after the fact. Fortunately, this is not a proper blog, so I can do whatever I want.

My first visit and second visits to Rudder Theater had something in common: they both featured an expert in crisis management.

The first visit occurred back in 2004, during my first year of this doctoral program. I had just donated blood at a campus blood drive. One moment I was walking to my next class, chatting with my husband on my cell phone; the next moment I was sprawled on my back in the grass, with no memory of how I got there. Leaning over me was General Van Alstyne, then Commandant of the A&M Corps of Cadets. He assessed my vital signs, noted the gauze strapped to my elbow, and recruited the necessary troops. He dispatched one student to inform the blood drive crew that a donor had collapsed. Another student assisted him in carrying me and my stuff to the nearest air conditioning, in Rudder Theater. After ten minutes spent horizontal on a theater lobby bench, I felt much more like myself. Soon I was on my way to class again, but I wasn’t allowed to walk—a kind phlebotomist ferried me to class in her own car.

On my second and most recent Rudder Theater visit, September 28, I had the privilege of listening to another man with emergency-handling experience: astronaut Jim Lovell.

Like nearly everyone, I have seen the movie Apollo 13. More than once. It’s the best kind of movie, the kind that takes an amazing story and somehow draws you into it, and makes you care how it turns out. But even better was the silent footage of Fred Haise, Jack Swigert, and Jim Lovell in the LEM, and the actual Mission Control folks in Houston, all narrated by one of the main characters.

I started my writing session in the auditorium balcony after Jim Lovell finished his presentation, and finished it just outside the door on a bench. (It still counts, it’s still 30 consecutive minutes in Rudder Theater.) From the bench, I could look over the balcony and see an amazing wall of art. The wall is cover with a bunch of painted blobs. Each blob contains a landscape made of little pieces of wood. I wish I knew the story behind the Rudder Theater landscape wall, because it’s really cool. As with most of my building pictures, the photo does not do it justice.

Kyle Field

(Written for the most part on Saturday, September 22, the day the Fightin’ Texas Aggies trounced South Carolina State 70-7, long before Johnny Manziel became Johnny Football and a Heisman contender.)

(This is Stop #16 in the Texas A&M Building Writing Tour, my attempt to motivate myself on my dissertation by writing in every campus building before I graduate.)

Wow, just wow. Here I am, at my first Aggie football game in Kyle Field. I’m trying to get in my 30 minutes of writing before the game starts, because Aggies are not allowed to sit down during home football games. I’d rather not try to write standing up. Plus, I have a feeling it is going to get rather loud in here.

(Technically, this is my second Aggie game. But now that I’ve seen the real thing, I realize the 2011 Meineke Car Care Bowl, in Houston’s Reliant Stadium, doesn’t count.)

Our seats are perfect: on the 50-yard line, lower deck, right by the Aggie band. Our timing was also perfect—we arrived just as the band marched in. Then, a bonus: Junior ROTC students from all over the country marched in, to the tune of the Armed Forces Medley. They represented 25 states and all branches of the military. Another unexpected bonus: the Sea Aggie Corps of Cadets, celebrating the 50th anniversary of Texas A&M-Galveston.

Then the Texas A&M Corps of Cadets marched in. Also Parson’s Mounted Cavalry. And Reveille.Why aren’t the stands full for this? I don’t understand why anyone with a game ticket wouldn’t come early to watch the Corps review. I’m sure the football game will be fine, but I have a feeling the Corps and the band will top my list of favorite things about Aggie football games. Whatever the football players do, it can’t possibly match watching the Corps march in.

(Keep in mind, I wrote this long before the Aggies defeated #1 Alabama on their way to a 10-2 season and a Cotton Bowl berth.)

For my one photo, I chose the end-zone stands. In it I can see all my favorite parts of my first Kyle field game: the Aggie Band, the student body, and the American flags edging the stadium skyline.

So, why did I wait until December to post my September Kyle Field writeup? The primary reason was that I was not satisfied with it. I knew I had not done justice to the task. Perhaps in another 10 years, if I keep practicing my writing, I might be able to adequately describe the sights, sounds, and atmosphere of a Kyle Field football game. But now, whatever I try just falls flat. So, I gave up. All my attempts at soaring adjectives and action-packed verbs have been deleted, and this is all that remains. If you want to know what a Kyle Field football game is like, you’ll just have to go to one yourself.

Jack E. Brown Engineering Building: Sometimes “good enough” is good enough

(This is Stop #15 in the Texas A&M Building Writing Tour, my attempt to motivate myself on my dissertation by writing in every campus building before I graduate.)

Since my dialog with my inner perfectionist a couple weeks ago, I keep noodling on the concept of “good enough”. How good is good enough? Shouldn’t I try to excel at things I do? If I am writing something, shouldn’t I try to write it as well as I can? I always thought that if a task wasn’t worth doing well, it wasn’t worth doing at all. Now I’m reconsidering.

If I were in business, I could make decisions about what is “good enough” from a return-on-investment standpoint. That isn’t very helpful when it comes to dissertations and writing. From a monetary perspective, the dissertation’s return on investment is negative anyway. According to my calculations, based on the anticipated pay raise I would receive for earning a doctorate, I would need to work for my current institution for at least 30 years to recoup the money I’ve invested in tuition and school-related expenses.

That’s okay, because I never approached this from a money-making standpoint. Not all investments are financial, and the most valuable investment returns are not financial either. The time I invest writing my dissertation will be paid back in other ways.

If all goes well, I will eventually need to make decisions about how good is “good enough” on my dissertation. Do I do the bare minimum to satisfy my committee, or do I try to make it a masterpiece? I’m not there yet. Right now, my “how good is good enough” decisions involve other things. How carefully do I need to grade? How much time do I spend on a recommendation letter? How clean does the house need to be? Time and energy are both precious commodities. If I spend too much of either on other things, there is less available for the dissertation. At the same time, I have a moral obligation to serve my students and my institution, and serve them well. There’s a right balance to be found, and I’m sure I’m nowhere near finding it.

I’ve occasionally made a good “good enough” decision. It’s rare, but I’ve done it. This past week, I paid Mr. Car Wash $30 to clean my car inside and out, including an interior super-scrub and dash dressing. When they finished, I noticed a bit of dried Starbucks in the console cup-holder, and some big crumbs in the metal track holding the passenger seat. At first, I was upset. If I pay $30 to clean my car, shouldn’t it be clean? Maybe. Trouble is, I didn’t pay $30 just to get my car cleaned. I could have cleaned it myself, for free. My $30 was for getting it cleaned in 10 minutes.

For 10 minutes, it was good enough. It smelled nice, and it looked nice. If I want to grab a toothbrush and remove the dried Starbucks myself, I can. The cleaning job was good enough to dispel any trace of new car fever that might have been building lately. And that’s money well spent.

This “good enough” writing session occurred in the glassed-in second floor aerie of the Jack E. Brown Engineering Building. I’m glad I chose to explore upstairs—I felt like I was floating in the trees. (Though I liked the sign on the downstairs computer lab: “Observe. Engineers in their natural habitat. Please do not tap on glass; engineers are easily startled by outsiders.”)

This building is truly beautiful. Stark, but beautiful. I’m glad whoever designed this building was not satisfied with “good enough”.

What a lovely writing spot!

It was fitting my little car reached 200K during a drive home from A&M. I took this photo at the Navasota stoplight...didn't even have to pull over. This was back in June...I'm hoping to reach 250K before I graduate!

Halbouty Geosciences Building: An argument wiith perfectionism

(This is Stop #14 in the Texas A&M Building Writing Tour, my attempt to motivate myself on my dissertation by writing in every campus building before I graduate.)

Deliberately skipping a workshop to which I had RSVP’d….isn’t that a wonderful way to begin a Friday?

Actually, as it turns out, it meshes perfectly with the writing lessons I have learned today. This weekend, my Texas A&M writing family brought in a special guest: Dr. Dannelle Stevens of Portland State University. She was here to talk with us about how journaling can transform even the most unproductive stalled-out graduate student into a prolific academic writer. Of course, I immediately signed up. I registered for the 3-hour Saturday workshop, and also planned to attend this morning’s 9-11:30 session. I even cajoled my writing professor into letting me crash her advanced writing studio Friday afternoon, as Dr. Stevens was scheduled to visit them for a “fireside chat”. I briefly considered skipping my Friday night writing feedback group for the 5:30 pm seminar, but fortunately came to my senses just in time. The surest way to guarantee a journal-free life would be to spend 36 hours learning about journaling.

So why did I miss my Friday morning journaling workshop? Well, because I stayed up until 5 a.m. trying to perfect a paragraph I had been struggling with all week. I wanted to make it as flawless as possible so the Friday night feedback group could tear it apart.

In a rare instance of good decision-making, I decided 1.5 hours of sleep was not the best recipe for a fruitful day of learning about writing (especially when the writing-learning would span 13 hours, not including the 3 hours spent driving). So, I skipped the workshop and slept. I still made the afternoon writing studio. There, Dr. Stevens asked us to write a dialog with one of our “writing demons”. My demon of choice was….you guessed it, Perfectionism.

Demon P. and I had quite a conversation. He praised my efforts in seeking out writing mentors, and informed me I should try to be just like them. (Yep, including the mile-long vita full of publications). He lauded the research design classic I had referenced in my problem paragraph, and told me my writing should be just as clear. He reminded me that anything I wrote, for my blog or anything else, would be archived forever, to be perused by dissertation committees, deans, and college presidents. I’d better be careful to make it good.

I’m sure the dialog was supposed to end with me kicking Demon P. to the curb, never to be seen again. I don’t think it happened. I believe I nudged him out the door, though I don’t trust the latch…it’s not a real deadbolt, just one of those hook-and-eye thingies that wiggles a little, then eventually unscrews and comes off altogether.

However, it seems to be holding for now. With that in mind, I am determined to publish my Halbouty Building blog post tonight, with no more than fifteen minutes of editing (I have to get up at 5 a.m. to get to the journaling workshop on time.)

Yes, I will post it the very day I wrote in Halbouty. No more waiting for 3 weeks like the Kyle Field blog post, or 2 weeks like the Rudder Theater blog post (both still sitting in my files, awaiting final edits before the expectant public is allowed to read them). If Demon P. stays outside for the rest of the weekend, they might get posted too.

For the record, except for the aforementioned fifteen minutes of editing, this entire blog post was created in a single session, in the first-floor bathroom of the Halbouty Building. Yes, I wrote in a bathroom. Old buildings, especially the ones with labs, often have couches in the bathrooms. I’m sure they were originally intended for grad students. But this is the first time I’ve written on one. I’m very glad my Institutional Review Board liaison hasn’t yet returned my phone call….I really need to talk to her, but have always refused to become one of those people, …you know, the ones who have phone conversations in bathrooms.

Joe H. Reynolds Medical Building

(This is Stop #13 in the Texas A&M Building Writing Tour, my attempt to motivate myself on my dissertation by writing in every campus building before I graduate.)

I am so glad for my little write-every-building project. Without it, I’m sure I would have never set foot in the Joe Reynolds Medical Building, and I would have missed out on a special place. Its first surprise was on the plaque right inside the door…wow, I didn’t even know Texas A&M had a College of Medicine! Then another mystery: the name and picture of the new dean of libraries is near the door. Why would his office be in a medical building instead of a library?

(Actually, I’m still not sure whether we have a medical school. My lit review wizard mentioned it had moved off-campus somewhere. Then one of our Grad Camp speakers said the medical school had gone away during the mid-1990’s, but might be back soon. I am perfectly capable of looking it up, but somehow that feels like cheating. Plus, my complete ignorance about the buildings makes the tour more fun.)

What struck me most about the Medical Building was how LOUD it was. When I walked in, thirty people or so were gathered in the lounge talking. They left at the same time, and it momentarily fell quiet, like a normal building. Not for long. After writing here for a while, I noticed this building was different from the others I’d visited. Other buildings are full of individuals, with no connection to each other. These students actually know each other! 

They wandered through the lounge in clumps of two or three, always talking. Sometimes they talked about class, sometimes about medical topics (animal or human, I couldn’t tell). Sometimes they talked about innocuous things, like dinner plans or racquetball. A couple students were setting off to visit the new tunnel. For a brief moment, I enjoyed that feeling of superiority, which comes from knowing information other people don’t. (Completely ridiculous, but real…the human ego is untamable.) Yes, I had already discovered the tunnel. It runs under University Drive and connects the Vet Center with the Medical Sciences Library. I wonder…did those tunnel-touring students write in the tunnel, or just walk through? 

Medical school or no, these are clearly medical people. They wore scrubs, mostly maroon. They carried either nothing at all, or giant books—nothing in between. No purses. I saw “Atlas of Anatomy” on a bathroom shelf and was thankful to be an education major. Though really, when I think about it, writing a dissertation intimidates me far more than learning that atlas….if I could, I might just trade! 

While I was writing, two young men stopped by and played the piano for a while. I wish all my writing sessions had live music. Wow, what a treat!  

I was in a rush, and forgot to ask the piano players' names. I did ask, and receive, their permission to post the photograph on my silly building-writing blog. Thanks for the music, guys, you made my day!!

Harrington Education Tower

(This is Stop #12 in the Texas A&M Building Writing Tour, my attempt to motivate myself on my dissertation by writing in every campus building before I graduate.) 

I am a graduate student in education, and so Harrington Education Tower has hosted most of my classes, along with a few panic-provoking events. Somewhere in Harrington is the bare closet in which I took my prelim exam in statistics—it’s entirely possible that my tear-smears are still on the desk. Fortunately, every memory of misery is accompanied by a better remembrance—a memory of mercy. If my advisor and my committee professors really believed I couldn’t make it, they’ve had plenty of chances to tell me so. And they haven’t.  (I try to hold onto this fact during my all-too-frequent bouts of discouragement.)

My most recent visit to Harrington Education Tower was for a friend’s dissertation defense. Thanks in large part to our POWER writing group, it was a full house. Though I was happy to support my friend, I must confess that my primary motives were selfish. First, I hoped to piggyback onto her motivation—seeing someone else finish her degree might inspire me to finish my own. Plus, if there is some chance, however slim, that I will need to defend a dissertation in a year or so, it seems a good idea to have seen one. 

The presentation was surprisingly short and low-key. We visitors were kicked out for a few minutes at the beginning, and again at the end, so the committee could conduct secret discussions. During our last wait in the hallway, the committee chair left, dropping us a mysterious smile and a “be right back”. Then, from down the hall, “ding-ding-ding-ding”. The professor returned, swinging a brass bell. As he walked, people emerged from their offices and began to clap. Apparently, this bell signals a successful dissertation defense. (I don’t know if the bell-ringing tradition is universal among doctoral programs, if it is unique to Texas A&M, or if it is a quirk of this particular department.)

After a quick hug for my new doctor friend, I went downstairs to write in the lobby. Harrington’s first floor has two study/reading alcoves across from the elevators. The leftmost one fit my taste, with a casual yet elegant leather couch. Unfortunately, it wasn’t nearly as comfortable as it looked. So I moved to the other alcove, and tried the frilly high-backed Queen Anne chair. Not pretty, but perfect for writing. If my neck hurts, I can’t concentrate on writing. And I’d better write…..I want that bell to ring for me!

Cain Hall

(This is Stop #11 in the Texas A&M Building Writing Tour, my attempt to motivate myself on my dissertation by writing in every campus building before I graduate.) 

This past weekend, I wrote in Cain Hall. This is Wofford Cain Hall, not to be confused with the James J. Cain Mechanical Engineering building, on the other side of campus.

(I did write in the James Cain Engineering building back in April, shortly after drafting my write-every-building goal, but before I decided to document each building-writing session in my blog. So, I will have to revisit the Cain Engineering building, and prove my presence there with a photo and blog post.)

My reason for spending Sunday afternoon in Wofford Cain Hall is that I am a Grad Camp counselor, and Cain Hall was the site of a scheduled counselor training session. Yes, at the age of 43, I volunteered to become a camp counselor. As a teenager, I never dreamed of such a thing…why would I do it now?  I am already struggling to find sufficient time to work on my dissertation. I start data collection in two weeks, and I am way behind in job-related duties. I have recently undergone at least two dissertation-related meltdowns. It seems the height of folly to give Grad Camp two precious days of my summer vacation, plus two half-days for training. 

However, I have made an important discovery on my meandering dissertation journey: time spent connecting with campus, and other graduate students, is a good investment. For me, every round trip to campus means three or four hours on the road (depending on whether I leave from home, or from my community college job in Houston). Those hours more than pay off in increased motivation. (The correlation between driving hours and dissertation productivity probably only holds for a certain interval—if I drove to Texas A&M ten times each week, I wouldn’t get much research done.)

Actually, I am the perfect grad camp counselor. All the other counselors are super-motivated, super-productive people. They will whiz through their coursework, ace their prelims, and finish their dissertations right on schedule. But presumably, some of the new graduate student campers will be normal people, with no supernatural powers. They need a counselor they can relate to. For at least six of my eight years in the doctoral program, I have been the perfect model of how not to do grad school. My hope is that by seeing me, the grad campers will be motivated to avoid my mistakes.

My biggest mistake (besides merely hiding from my dissertation) was failing to see the importance of writing. During my "interview" for the counselor position, I mentioned that many graduate students struggle with writing, and that I'd like to tell the campers about the university’s writing resources. My interviewer, the camp assistant director and a mechanical engineering robot-making genius, looked at me as if I was crazy--he said he'd never had any trouble writing, and didn't realize it was such an issue. Perhaps he's right...I don't actually know for a fact that most graduate students struggle with writing--my writing professor has told me so, but maybe she's just trying to make me feel less alone.

Anyway, wisely or unwisely, I am committed to be a camp counselor. The camp is next week. If I survive, and if I’m not fired for lacking party game enthusiasm, I’ll post a Grad Camp report. 

You can't tell from the picture, but my cozy writing nook is in a sunken pit around
 the non-functional fireplace...it's nice!

Medical Sciences Library

(This is Stop #10 in the Texas A&M Building Writing Tour, my attempt to motivate myself on my dissertation by writing in every campus building before I graduate.) 

Today I had an appointment for help with my systematic literature review (part of the contract with my Blocker Building accountability partner). I had received specific instructions: “corner of University and Agronomy…shared parking lot with West Campus Library…lots of renovations…cannot enter the library through the normal doors…go through a courtyard….follow signs to GPS zone where the library is moved for now….ask staff where my office is.”

I’m glad I left at 11:30 for my 2:00 appointment….I had allowed a 30-minute cushion, and I needed every bit of it. On the map (printed by my kind husband), I was happy to see a blue parking lot nearby. (During the summer months only, I can park for free in the blue parking lots, using my $275 Lot 50 permit.) While walking to what I thought was my building, a student asked directions to the General Services Building. Can’t he tell I’m just a tourist on campus? However, I had once visited the General Services Complex, so I did my best. Even if I got it right, he had a long hot walk ahead of him. 

At the corner of Agronomy and University was the building marked on my map. “Entomology Lab”.  I searched my memory… entomology = study of bugs, etymology = study of words. This couldn’t possibly be the library. Of course, she had said it was not in its usual location, so maybe….I went in. Narrow hall, labs, bug diagrams—no books, no people. This couldn’t be right. In spite of my cushion, time was tight—if I wandered too long, I would be late; the librarian would conclude I was unworthy of her assistance, and I would never graduate. The nearby buildings seemed small and sparsely populated—not good library candidates. 

Across Agronomy was a large building with a big parking lot—surely someone there could help me find the Medical Sciences library. In it, the signs told me I was on the right track: virology, pathology. Not very library-like, but definitely medical.  I inquired, and was told that the Medical Sciences Library was across the street. I was puzzled—I had come from across the street, and there was only a bug lab. My guide clarified—no, University was the street I needed to cross. And, I didn’t actually have to cross it—I could use the tunnel. Sure enough, there is a pedestrian tunnel under busy University Drive, and, after just one more inquiry from another friendly person, I found it. 

The tunnel is just a long hallway, as you might find in any building—you would never guess a four-lane traffic jam was taking place a few feet above the ceiling. On the walls were “High Water Alarms”, complete with phone number. Do cell phones work underwater? 

I reached the end of the tunnel. No library. My spirits sank. I had long ago relinquished my pride and was perfectly willing to ask directions, but the tunnel-end office had no people. I turned my back on it, and hooray!! Two signs: “take elevator to Medical Sciences Library” and “tunnel to vet center”. Apparently I had come from a veterinary building—that explains the beautiful old animal portraits I had admired.

Sure enough, after riding the elevator to the first floor, I saw signs for the GPS Zone and Medical Sciences Library. Yay, I made it, with five minutes to spare! Friendly people led me to the office of the systematic review magician. (And, yes, I did ask what GPS Zone meant: Graduate Professional Services). 

I am not sure what to call my new friend. “Librarian” falls far short. “Systematic literature review expert” is accurate but rather wordy. Whatever her title, she lived up to her reputation. She is a marvel.  I have homework, and will meet with her again next week. My main questions as I left her office: When my chair said my lit review seemed just fine, why didn’t I believe him? Why on earth did I ever suggest an article format dissertation and a systematic review? Is it too late to turn back? 

I never did see the courtyard, the shared parking lot, or the outside of the building. Next week, will I play it safe, taking the now-familiar route through the vet building and tunnel? Or should I seek a surface route, and accept the risk of getting lost? 

Today I wrote in the tunnel, because I liked it. I brushed the construction dust off my bench, and enjoyed the saw/hammer noises and the nice breeze from the plastic-covered stairwell. I hadn’t thought about it before, but I really like the smell of fresh sawdust. It’s hard to describe, but there’s nothing quite like it. It made me want to breathe deep, and suck that smell right down into my lungs. Surely my surgically repaired sinuses can handle it!  

Blocker Building

(This is Stop #9 in the Texas A&M Building Writing Tour, my attempt to motivate myself on my dissertation by writing in every campus building before I graduate.)  

This week’s writing session in Blocker was all about accountability. Last week, I confessed to my writing group that I’d been in rather a rut with my writing and research. I had been so focused on getting my proposal and IRB documents approved, that I didn’t know what to do with myself after those were done. I’ve been piddling around, working a little on one thing, then a little on another, with no plan whatsoever. My writing streak now stands at 205 days, but half of my recent sessions have been completely useless. 

So, when a new friend from my writing group offered his services as an accountability partner, how could I refuse? Refusal would prove that I like whining about being completely unproductive, but am unwilling to do anything about it. 

So, we scheduled a meeting, showed up, and talked through my overwhelming pile of articles/projects/tasks. We decided a reasonable goal would be to write at least 2 hours per day, alternating days between my systematic review article and my mixed methods research study. He suggested taking weekends off, but I told him I was too immature and untrustworthy for that—taking a weekend off would derail me completely.

On Monday, I am supposed to email him my writing log, and tell him I completed several short but important dissertation-related tasks. If I don’t do them, or if I fail to write, I must confess. When I think of an accountability partner, I think of “tough love”—someone who is willing to chew me out and tell me to get my act together. However, I suspect that’s just what I will not get from Charles—if I don’t follow through on my writing commitments, he will probably say, “good job”, ask politely what happened, and trust that my own sense of shame will kick in and get me back on track. 

After our planning session, we wrote for 39 minutes in the first floor computer lab. For my photo, I considered the drink table by the entrance. (Drinks are not allowed, so everyone leaves them on a table, and picks them up when they leave. I put a green sticky note on my bottle, so I wouldn’t accidentally grab the wrong one. Apparently no one else worried about this, as I saw no other marked bottles). 

But no, I couldn’t waste my one photograph on a drink table. I had to photograph the lab itself, with my accountability partner Charles included for no extra charge. 

For the record, the Blocker building was the impetus behind my original building-writing goal, which was to finish my dissertation before A&M finished any new buildings. If you discover you are unlikely to reach a goal, it is always wise to forget the original goal, well before you fail to reach it, and replace it with a more reasonable goal…exactly what I’ve done. 

Computing Services Center

Today’s writing session in the Computing Services Center is a bittersweet one. You see, this may be the last building writing session for my faithful Gateway computer.

A recent scare, followed by two unsuccessful attempts at upgrading the operating system to Windows 7, forced me to face an unwelcome truth: my laptop needed a major operation. Without a clean install of a new operating system, it would continue to go downhill, crashing more and more often. Eventually, there would be a crash so deep it would be unable to recover.

Before agreeing to any invasive procedure, a wise person calculates all options, weighing risk and reward. I calculated that by the time my dissertation was finished, Gateway would be 7 years old, far beyond the functional life expectancy for a laptop. At five, it’s already a senior citizen. So, instead of risking a catastrophic failure, possibly during the height of data collection and analysis, I decided to let it retire with dignity.

Trust me, I did not make this decision lightly. For five years, this computer has been my steadfast companion, sharing my joys and trials. It has been a solid workhorse, doing everything I asked and more. As my only computer, it has written math tests, class papers, my research proposal, and my IRB documents. With its stylus and flip-around tablet, it made scores of math videos for my students. It has stored hundreds of journal articles without complaint, never nagging me about when I was actually going to read them. It keeps running, even when filled with popcorn crumbs and cat hair. It has instilled in me valuable habits, like saving every two minutes and making multiple backups.

Yes, it has its little quirks, including the bright blue screen that pops up without warning, the annoying Windows Mail program (Windows Vista won’t run Outlook), and the sausage-shaped battery that runs along the back edge. Right now, these just don’t bother me much. The prospect of death or extended absence has a way of transforming aggravating habits into endearing character qualities.

Sadly, my trusty workhorse is being replaced by a slick, shiny, fast new steed. The Gateway will be retired to pasture, to spend its remaining years in leisure. Perhaps I will take it for a ride every once in a while, just to stretch its legs and recall old times. In a way, I’m glad I didn’t replace it with another tablet. This way, whenever I have the need to sign a letter, scribble out a math problem, or make a quick video, I can trot out the Gateway. Part-time work will not only make it feel useful, but will probably extend its life. Total inactivity almost never has good results. 

I must now move on, and focus on properly setting up and equipping my new laptop. So, I visited the Computing Services Center to pick up Microsoft Office Professional Suite, made available to students for an amazing price of $20. (Thank you, Texas A&M!) Perhaps there are advantages to spending a decade in grad school after all. For now, the software is just leased—if I leave the university, I must return it or face piracy charges. If I ever finish my dissertation and graduate, I will own it free and clear. I shouldn’t need any more motivation to graduate, but every little bit helps!

The lobby where I wrote. The gentleman who owned the office said no, there was no story behind the bird. He chose it simply because it was pretty. He was right! (But the hand sanitizer dispenser needs to move over a couple feet. Better to obscure a non-working water fountain than a pretty green bird!)

I know, I know, the rules say I'm only allowed one photo per building. But as far as I'm concerned, that only applies to photos of the building. So, here are some more....

My old friend and my new friend.

The Commons

(Posted nearly two weeks retroactively, because I was swamped with summer school and didn’t get around to removing the photo from my phone.)

Friday’s building was the Commons. I chose it because I was on a very tight schedule and needed a not-yet-written-in building close to a legal parking lot. In the summers, TAMU grants all permit-holders the privilege of parking in several close-in locations. So, I try to think of my $275 Lot 50 permit as a free tour pass, my ticket into places normally off limits to a lowly graduate student. The Southside Parking Garage is my favorite summer parking place, and the Commons is the closest non-dorm building.  

The Commons connects four dormitories, much like the crossbar of a letter H. In it are food outlets, mailboxes, and equipment for rest and recreation. Due to poor planning, I ate lunch on the road, instead of taste-testing the Commons food offerings. Eating there would have meant a difficult decision…do I try the Common Denominator grill (because it’s such a great name)?  Or do I try the Chick-Fil-A Express, to learn whether it has the same level of outstanding service as the freestanding Chick-Fil-A’s?

I may have to revisit the Commons after August. I suspect the Commons in Fall and the Commons in Summer are so drastically different that they really should count as separate buildings. Perhaps on my next visit, the sea of empty pool tables will be overrun by hordes of boisterous freshmen. Perhaps my next Commons writing session won’t be so quiet and peaceful that I could easily mistake my environment for a library instead of a dorm.

On this summer Friday, I found myself wishing for more time, as the Commons was a very pleasant place to write. I was rather proud of myself—instead of spending my writing session writing about the Commons, I spent it doing an initial database search and writing up my search terms and results. (Yes, finally, a building tour stop is filled with useful dissertation-related writing. Hooray!)

Zachry Engineering Center: a visit to home?

(This is Stop #6 in the Texas A&M Building Writing Tour, my attempt to motivate myself on my dissertation by writing in every campus building before I graduate.) 

I visited Zachry late on the Friday afternoon of Memorial Day weekend. Though it was not exactly teeming with student activity, I saw a more students and heard more voices than I expected. I really wish I had time to visit a non-engineering building the same day, just to assess any activity level differences.

I was nearly alone in the first floor atrium where I chose to write. One student was studying at a table, and another was sleeping on an elaborate wooden bench with striped cushions. I love the old benches and sofas lining Zachry’s hallways. Though they are old, it’s a solid mahogany sort of old, not a worn-out decrepit sort of old. This is the kind of furniture that when you see it, your first reaction is, “they don’t make benches like that anymore”.

I loved Zachry’s three-story atrium. My favorite feature was the ceiling…they somehow managed to put 5 rows of vertical windows onto one horizontal ceiling. My second favorite feature was the old-fashioned brown paneling lining the walls of the atrium and hall. It reminded me of the house I grew up in (technically a mobile home but never seemed like it.)

I’m glad the Mitchell Fundamental Physics Institute and Zachry were back-to-back stops on my writing tour, as this made the contrasts obvious. Both atriums are beautiful, but one is shiny and showy and new, and the other is pleasant and functional and much older. One possesses the sort of beauty that shouts, “look at me!”, and the other has a quiet modest brand of beauty. Zachry is very pretty, and not just the back-handed “you’re surprisingly pretty for someone so old” sort. I like the fancy physics building, but if I had to live somewhere, I think I’d pick Zachry instead.

Noticing Zachry felt like home got me thinking….why have almost all the early stops on my writing tour been engineering buildings? In keeping with the fact that a Ph.D. is a research degree, I probably should have randomized my building tour, writing the building names on scraps of paper, and drawing them out of a hat. Too late for that now. One reason for starting in the engineering quadrant is purely practical: it is adjacent to the parking lot listed on my $275 hangtag. (A side benefit of my writing tour is that it is reducing the per visit cost of my parking permit.) Sometimes I’ve been in a time crunch and didn’t want to waste time walking across campus to a faraway building (that’s a ridiculous argument really….why am I wasting time driving 70 miles to campus to write when I could write at home in my living room?)

I wonder if the true reason I’ve gravitated to the engineering buildings is that my long-unused engineering degree makes me feel at home in them. As I have wandered into campus buildings, I’ve been surprised by an odd self-conscious sensation, as if I’m intruding. I recognize that this is a public university and these buildings are open to all students (except for restricted-access labs and such, which are understandably safeguarded by card-swipers and number pads). I know perfectly well that students take classes in all sorts of buildings. Even engineering students must take history, and presumably their history classes meet in a history building. Granted, there are probably not many history majors attending class in Zachry Engineering Center, but the same principle applies. No one needs to show an engineering identification card to enter Zachry or Wisenbaker. I’m sure no engineer would object to any education grad student writing in Zachry’s atrium, and no physicist would mind my revising research compliance documents next to the Foucalt Pendulum. Similarly, the business majors won’t mind me writing in the business building (whatever that is…guess I’ll find out eventually!) Still, visiting Zachry felt like coming home. I may have left engineering a long time ago, but apparently engineering has not quite left me.